


Cueca Solo

by MrsHamill



Series: Riding the Wheel of If [20]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mission Fic, Torture, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-17
Updated: 2003-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While stuck on a mission, an unexpected Bad Thing happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cueca Solo

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, okay. So maybe I _do_ write angst... now and then. Anyway. This story got ripped to shreds by Fox and Katbear while visiting with me and Emu (all those animals!), then it got put back together, sorta like Frankenstein's monster. Bunny (another animal!) and Maj helped a ton with it, and poor Claude had to listen to me bitch and moan about it, and then ended up beta-ing both versions, so deserves a medal or at least a pan of brownies. A big, tall, special thank you to Master Whatshername for pinch-hitting for Fox and helping me wrestle this monster down to size.

_They're dancing with the missing_  
_They're dancing with the dead_  
_They dance with the invisible ones_  
_Their anguish is unsaid_  
_They're dancing with their fathers_  
_They're dancing with their sons_  
_They're dancing with their husbands_  
_They dance alone_  
_They dance alone_

\- _They Dance Alone (Cueca Solo)_ By Sting

* * *

"Personally, I think the talks just might be resolved if I were to kill him," Obi-Wan said quietly.

His partner and mate, who stood behind him, snorted. "At this point," Qui-Gon murmured, "I'm inclined to let you. Although I wouldn't be averse to doing him in myself."

Leaning back into Qui-Gon's embrace, Obi-Wan sighed. "Do you realize we've been here for almost _six months_?" Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan's middle and pulled him in tight. "We're no closer now to a peaceful end to this conflict than we were at the beginning." 

Qui-Gon also sighed, in agreement with Obi-Wan. They stood looking out of the tall window in their quarters onto the partially-ruined capital city of their hosts. Continuing softly, Obi-Wan said, "And I'm beginning to wonder if we ever will. This entire planet is caste-crazed. It's quite wearing."

"Rigidly stratified," Qui-Gon agreed, which made the petition to join the Republic truly strange. He and Obi-Wan had debated that issue at length, trying to figure out the real reason why Gi wanted to be a part of the Republic. Such societies generally didn't invite outside influence. "If the Nelowengi really wanted peace, you'd think they'd send someone less fractious than Darjahn." Qui-Gon added, still in a murmur, "It does appear as though he's being deliberately obtuse sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Holding Qui-Gon's arms around him, Obi-Wan leaned back a little more. "Try all the time," he added, his voice tired and angry. "There are so many other things I'd rather be doing instead of babysitting these petulant fools. I want to find Fett, and, more importantly, I want to find Tyrannus."

Qui-Gon shook his head sharply. "I want to know who killed all those Kaminoans and clones. I liked Lama Su, and it bothers me that there's no one to avenge his death. And regardless of what we think about cloning, those creatures were living, sentient beings, part of the Force."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "I think it's more important to find out where those twenty thousand missing clones are," he said. "And I really want to know who the turncoat is at the Temple."

"Instead, we're here," Qui-Gon said. "Trying to get blind people to see." Their voices were still very soft, as they were certain their rooms were under at least audio surveillance. That was just another thing to fret about, since that knowledge led to an understandable decrease in their sex life. Neither of them relished the idea of putting on a show for their unseen listeners. "I'm sure if Adi or Mace had anything of interest to report in their investigation, they would have let us know," Qui-Gon said, sounding more certain than he felt. Both he and Obi-Wan were aware that their own mini-Council was keeping the information flow tightly controlled -- because of that turncoat. Whoever it was.

They both sighed again, and Qui-Gon tightened his embrace a bit more. The view from the window was as depressing as their thoughts. At a distance from the tightly secured compound in which they were housed, they could look upon the ruins of a city through which the shambling ruins of people moved -- dying people who were mostly female, virtually none of whom were whole and healthy. 

"The Porlongi do seem sincere in their work towards brokering a peace treaty," Qui-Gon said after a moment.

"Well, at least Linneal is," Obi-Wan agreed. "But she hasn't a clue what she's doing. All she knows is that her planet will not be allowed into the Republic unless this civil war is halted -- and she wants Gi in the Republic. Badly."

The afternoon was deepening towards night, and the window they stood before was slowly becoming a mirror. "And here we are, right back again to our big puzzle," Qui-Gon said thoughtfully. "Why does the Porlongi contingent want admission to the Republic so badly? Gi is not on any major trade route, and, as far as we know, has no significant assets." Dimly reflected in the glass, Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan frown at his words. "We've suspected all along there's more here than meets the eye."

"But how are we supposed to find out what it is?" Obi-Wan asked. "Without leaving this building, we have no way of learning the truth. I'm weary of sitting in meeting after interminable meeting, where they make demands and we try to force concessions." After a long moment's silence, Obi-Wan spoke again. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "the time has come for an ultimatum."

Qui-Gon frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean we ought to just come out and tell them this is their last chance," Obi-Wan continued after a moment. "Tell them that they've used up all our good will, and this is it. If they don't make real strides towards the treaty, we'll leave, and their dream of entering the Republic will be over."

"I don't like making threats as a means to an end, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. The scheme was compelling, however.

"Neither do I," Obi-Wan replied. "But I'm not certain there's any other way to go."

After several moments' quiet thought, during which the idea became increasingly attractive, Qui-Gon said, "I think we should meditate -- and perhaps sleep -- on the idea. We've got another dinner to get through first, and we know how upsetting those are. I don't want to make any decision in haste."

"All right," Obi-Wan replied, sounding resigned. "I don't want to make any decision in haste, either. If there's any way to help the people of this planet who truly need help -- those _not_ of the Porlongi or Nelowengi -- I'll do it."

"Agreed." Unlike the delegates at the peace talks the Jedi had been sent to oversee, most of the people of Gi were starving and homeless. It was a tragedy of epic proportions, and the small minority of wealthy, landed gentry appeared not to notice or care. "Do you have your sack?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied with another sigh. "Every night I think: if I have to sit through one more of these ridiculous and irritating dinners, making polite conversation, listening to and ignoring the veiled accusations, and being served obscene quantities of food by starving, walking skeletons..."

Before releasing Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon gave him one last hard hug. "We do what we can, Obi."

"I know." Obi-Wan quickly kissed Qui-Gon then took a deep breath and adjusted his clothes. "Let's go."

The state of affairs on Gi was bad enough Qui-Gon found himself actually contemplating Obi-Wan's idea of an ultimatum. In all his years as a negotiator, he'd never come across a situation that looked to be so patently unsolvable. Neither the Nelowengi nor the Porlongi -- the two rival upper-caste factions -- cared much about the people 'below' them, each other, or for that matter, their world. 

By the time they reached the dining room, they had their serene masks on and were able to take their places without showing any measure of the distaste they actually felt. It was like a well-rehearsed magic act: one drew the attention of the others at the table while the other quickly secreted as much food as possible into a small sack concealed by their robes, while pretending to eat. Qui-Gon had never had such appreciation of the voluminous Jedi robes. The servers were by now aware of their deceit and would also cover for them, should someone at the table notice their sleight of hand. 

Since they were not allowed out of the compound, they had no way of knowing whether the food they smuggled out went to those truly in need or ended up on the black market. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was all they were able do -- until they were able to ram peace down the delegates' throats.

Nelowen Darjahn was particularly outspoken during dinner, and the looks Obi-Wan shot Qui-Gon could be interpreted as wondering if the Nelowengi were the ones monitoring their rooms. It would seem so, since his comments were pointed towards their lack of progress in the peace talks.

"I wonder whether our ever-patient Jedi are becoming tired of us, Linneal," he said in an aside that could be heard clearly in the hallway. 

Porlon Linneal looked almost panicked at the thought. "I'm certain they're not, Jahnny," she said, looking to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for confirmation.

"We generally don't see such protracted negotiations in these matters, it is true," Qui-Gon said, aware that Obi-Wan was filling his pouch with bread from his plate. "We do sometimes wonder if the peaceful conclusion of these hostilities is truly the aim of both castes."

"Of course it is," Linneal said quickly. Qui-Gon watched as she swallowed and looked at the members of her caste at the table. "Porlongi are aware that the end of the war must be achieved. It is a noble and worthy goal, and one that should benefit all of Gi."

Darjahn gave her a sardonic look. "Well-spoken, my dear Porlon," he said. "Nelowengi are, of course, as committed to the end of the war as the Porlongi. We've kept up our side of the cease-fire, just as you have. Why would we not be in favor of peace?" 

There was a general murmur of assent around the table, but Qui-Gon immediately noticed that no one met Darjahn's eyes, and that Linneal was frowning at the man. "I cannot imagine why anyone would be against peace, Jahnny," she said, obviously trying for a firm and ringing voice, but only managing to be tentative. "This war has dragged on for generations, and our entire world is suffering from it."

It was totally absurd, Qui-Gon thought, sliding some raw vegetables into his sack. Both castes paid lip service to peace, but were always ready and eager to pick a fight over anything. The so-called cease-fire was hardly that... from what they had heard, it meant a change to a guerilla war rather than out and out fighting. No one even remembered what or who started the war in the first place, though Qui-Gon believed it was more than likely something incredibly petty. 

After an uncomfortable silence, a member of the Porlon faction began to tell the story of how the beast they were eating was killed. Qui-Gon was well-versed in pretending to listen amiably while being secretly appalled, a skill that was necessary on Gi. The interminable dinner continued while the Jedi pasted false smiles on their faces and chuckled in what appeared to be the right places.

* * *

Before dessert was served, Qui-Gon leaned over to Obi-Wan. "I need a toilet break," he murmured. 

Obi-Wan laughed at him with his eyes only. "Can't hold your wine tonight?" he said in an equally soft voice. 

"Considering how watered it is..." Qui-Gon replied, briefly caressing Obi-Wan's hand where it rested on the table. "I'll be right back."

Making his excuses, Qui-Gon rose gracefully and left the room. Obi-Wan knew he would also drop his sack of food at their rooms while using the primitive 'fresher, and wished there was a way to pass Qui-Gon his own sack. Turning back to the table, he noticed Darjahn staring at him. The man's eyes were glittering with malice -- and something else that made Obi-Wan feel like ice water was being poured down his spine. Frowning, he stared back. "Is something amiss, Nelowen Darjahn?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm sure," Darjahn said with a tight smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Just wondering why you would allow your shadow to be parted from you."

This was not the first time Darjahn had made veiled references to their partnership status, and once again Obi-Wan wondered why the man seemed to dislike them so much. The table fell silent after Darjahn's words, and Linneal swallowed nervously. 

"Qui-Gon is my partner and my spouse, hardly my shadow," Obi-Wan replied mildly. 

"You must remember that Jedi ways are not like our ways, Jahnny," Linneal said. 

Darjahn smirked at her. "Oh, I'm quite well aware of that, Linn," he said. "I remember it every time I see the two of them together. Which is, of course, any time I see either of them. In fact, I can't remember a time when I've seen one without the other." He glanced around the table, and several members of his own caste smiled tightly at him.

Just then, the servants brought in dessert, a terribly sweet concoction, and conversation ceased for a long moment. Darjahn ate his slowly, shooting Obi-Wan a smirking glance every so often, one that was matched by a few others of his contingent. Others remained focused on their food, and would not look up.

There was something going on here that was just outside Obi-Wan's grasp, he was certain of it. Both Jedi were aware that marriage between people of the same gender was disallowed on Gi, but they had been assured their status would be of no consequence. Perhaps that assurance had been false. He put his spoon down after only one bite of dessert and raised the subject again. "If our marital status dismays you, Nelowen Darjahn," he said, in a carefully neutral voice, "you have my sincere apologies. We were under the impression that our personal lives would be of no significance at these talks."

"And they are not," Linneal said hastily. "We are all aware of your cultural differences, and I assure you, Jedi Obi-Wan, that it does not matter at all."

"Of course it doesn't," Darjahn said. But his voice was false and his eyes were still hard as the crystals in the Jedi's lightsabers. He took a deep sip of his wine, his gaze still on Obi-Wan.

Mentally, Obi-Wan shook his head. Outwardly, he maintained a calm facade, but inwardly, he all but snarled at the Nelowengi for having the temerity to question his happiness in his mate. "I would hate to think of your people having such an outdated way of thinking," he said blandly. "Difficulty in accepting us would undoubtedly mean difficulty in accepting many other races -- human and otherwise." Raising his glass, he took a sip, then frowned. His wine didn't appear to be watered, as Qui-Gon had said. And didn't Qui-Gon have but the one glass?

"How many alien races are there in the Republic?" Linneal asked. Turning his attention to her instead of the wine, Obi-Wan got the impression she was desperately trying to turn the conversation to something less loaded.

"The term 'alien' is not generally used in the Republic," Obi-Wan replied gently. "You must remember; you are of an alien race to a non-human, and even to some humanoid species. The Republic is a tremendously huge entity, and I believe there are hundreds -- if not thousands -- of different species represented in it." For some reason, Obi-Wan was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He managed to avoid squirming in his chair, but it was a close thing. There was an itch at the back of his neck he longed to scratch.

"I'm not sure the Nelowengi would approve of non-human envoys to our planet," Darjahn said, a hint of anger coloring his words. Typical, Obi-Wan thought with an internal sigh. "Why, there are barely enough resources for us to get by on as it is."

"That's a very egocentric stand to take, Darjahn," a member of the Porlongi contingent said. Obi-Wan could not remember his name. "Joining the Republic would represent an incredible benefit to our world, it would hardly cause it harm."  
  
Something was quite definitely wrong, Obi-Wan thought to himself. He rubbed at his ear while looking around the room, trying to pinpoint the source of his disquiet. He caught Darjahn staring at him again, and frowned. The man's gaze was smugly triumphant, and Obi-Wan's sense of foreboding increased. 

After a few more moments, the servants came back in to clear the dishes of those finished with dessert and to pour more wine. With a start, Obi-Wan realized that Qui-Gon had been gone far longer than he should have been. The itch at the back of his neck spread up his scalp, and he stood. "You will excuse me for a moment?" he asked the room at large. 

"Going to check up on your shadow -- oh, I beg your pardon. I mean, of course, your _spouse_?" Darjahn asked. In his mouth, the word sounded derisive.

Pausing, Obi-Wan gave him a stony stare. "I shall return momentarily," he said quietly, turning to leave the room. Biting back his frustration with Darjahn, Obi-Wan walked as swiftly as he could down the corridor towards the rooms they had been given. 

The door to their suite was wide open, and there was no Qui-Gon. His sack of food lay on the carpeted floor, halfway under the bed, his robe and 'saber next to it. "Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan called, becoming increasingly alarmed as he hunted for his mate.

A soft whimper made him whirl around. The young servant who had been taking their smuggled food was huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around her legs, and a large, bloody cut on her head. "What happened here?" he demanded, bending to take the girl's arms in a hard grip before pulling her to her feet. "Where's Qui-Gon?"

"Taken, sir," the girl gasped, trembling in Obi-Wan's hands. "They took him, sir," she added. Her voice was a panting whisper, and her face was screwed up in pain. "I came for the food, sir," she added, "I saw them, they was draggin' him out. Sir."

"Who?" Obi-Wan demanded, shaking her slightly. He felt himself spinning out of control, knew he had to regain his control -- but dread was beginning to overwhelm him. "Who took Qui-Gon?"

"Nelowengi, sir," she whispered, her voice even softer than before, her eyes filling with tears. 

Abruptly, Obi-Wan realized his grip must be giving her pain, and he released her, holding her upright when she would have collapsed. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure -- it would serve no purpose to frighten the girl out of what was left of her wits. "I'm sorry... Here. Let's get you fixed up," he murmured, shoving his panic down behind tight, cold anger. He directed her to the 'fresher, where he moistened a cloth and blotted at her cut. "They saw you, and hit you," he said, not a question.

"Yessir," she replied, hiccoughing as she tried to hold tears back. "I need to leave here, sir, they'll blame me, sir." 

"No, they won't," Obi-Wan said coldly and implacably. "This looks to be superficial, but I'm sure it's painful. I've cleaned it; just make sure it gets bandaged. Come to us -- to me -- if you need medicine." She gave him the wide-eyed, incredulous stare he often saw when he treated a servant with respect. "Take Qui-Gon's sack with you, and here's mine." He handed her his pilfered food, then scooped up Qui-Gon's, hustling her out the door. "And thank you," he added. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

She paused, nodded, and dropped a curtsy. "It's of no matter, and I'm sorry sir," she whispered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "We all of us like you Jedi. You're a kind master, sir. If we can help..." Glancing up and down the hall briefly, she skittered away before finishing her sentence.

Obi-Wan didn't feel very kind at the moment. Rather, he felt cold with anger. Now he knew. Darjahn must have set something up to separate them -- obviously, Qui-Gon's wine was drugged somehow, with something fairly innocuous that they wouldn't immediately recognize. The real question was why, and he decided it was about time to show both the Nelowengi and the Porlongi that the Jedi were warriors as well as diplomats.

* * *

Qui-Gon woke slowly, his head throbbing in time with his heart. He was lying on a dirty, cold floor that felt a little like plascrete but rougher, and he was dressed only in his undershorts and singlet. He shivered as he came back to himself, trying to remember where he was.

After a moment, he recalled -- a sudden spike of alarm, twisting around in time to see a large club coming down on his head. Dimly, he remembered seeing the little serving girl who cleaned their rooms being brutally smacked and thrown in the corner, before it all went black. Kidnapped, then, and imprisoned. Why? And by whom?

Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor, holding his throbbing head. His hand came away moist, and he realized his kidnappers must have missed the back of his head and hit his temple. While he felt awful, he was fairly certain he didn't have a concussion. He glanced around the dim room, seeing a windowless cell with a heavy metal door, a hole in one corner, and stalks of straw scattered about. Carefully he pushed himself into an upright position and reached for the Force to help him heal and to determine how he could get out.

He felt nothing.

Blinking, he used the tail of his shirt to wipe the blood from his face before trying again -- centering himself as best he was able and reaching.

Nothing. The Force would not come to his call.

Shoving panic down, he felt for his neck, which was clear of any collar. He glanced wildly around the room, looking for Force dampening material, but nothing looked sophisticated enough. Regulating his breathing and forcing his mind onto calmer paths, he rolled into lotus in a last attempt to reach the Force. That's when he felt it -- a sore spot on his left buttock. Curiously, he fingered the area, while trying to figure what it was -- perhaps a primitive injection? Could they have injected him with some chemical that could...

A crude laugh from the door of his small cell made him tense, though he worked hard not to show it outwardly. "Havin' a problem there, Jedi?" a man's voice, coming from a small, barred window in the door. After a moment of his silence, the voice continued. "You don't look so tough t'me," he said, in broken and heavily accented Basic. "And without those little bugs in your blood, I bet I could take you handy."

The cold Qui-Gon felt at those words had nothing to do with the chill of the floor or the room. An injection, then, and his captor seemed to imply that it -- Force forbid -- killed his midi-chlorians. Whatever it did, it was blocking his access to the Force. He let his eyelids sag shut, grounding and centering himself. Perhaps it would wear off after a time, and if it did, he had to be ready. 

Apparently, his calm demeanor infuriated his captor. "That's right, you keep thinkin' you're gonna be fine, thinkin' you're so much better'n us," the unknown man snarled. "You ain't and you won't be, y'know. We got orders for you, Jedi." He laughed again, which sent a slight shiver down Qui-Gon's spine. "Yeah, we got orders for you."

Regulating his breathing and sinking into a meditative trance, Qui-Gon spared himself a few moments of relief that he had been the one taken, instead of Obi-Wan. 

* * *

Obi-Wan stalked back to the dining room, well aware of his towering rage and struggling to sublimate it. The Gi had taken his attention away from serious, genuine problems for six months, and now they had performed the ultimate insult in taking his spouse -- once again he had two 'sabers on his belt, which only angered him further. There was _no reason_ for the kidnapping... though it was obvious that the Nelowengi thought there was. Pausing before entering the room again, he took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. 

They were all sitting around the large table, drinking wine and chatting, just as he had left them. Because he was looking directly at Nelowen Darjahn when he walked in, he recognized the triumphant flash that crossed the man's face. "Master Jinn has been kidnapped," he said in a tightly-controlled voice, continuing to stare at Darjahn.

A few of the people at the table -- Porlongi for the most part -- sat up and made genuine expressions of shock and dismay. Darjahn gave him a sardonic look, raising one eyebrow. "Well, well, isn't that just awful," he drawled. Linneal whipped her head around to stare at him. "I thought you Jedi were all-powerful... I guess not." He sighed theatrically. "Another illusion shattered."

Obi-Wan glared at him across the length of the table. "Where is he, Nelowen Darjahn?" he growled softly.

"Surely you can't accuse me of complicity in this terrible act," Darjahn said, all but smirking. "Why, I was here with you the whole time."

Obi-Wan took another deep breath, never looking away from Darjahn's face for an instant. As he breathed out, he decided to just screw it and act on impulse... live in the fucking moment, an internal voice snarled at him. Fine. He would. These people apparently only responded to a show of strength, and he could do that -- he could do that quite easily, in fact.

Using Force-enhanced speed, Obi-Wan was across the length of the room to where Darjahn sat in a bare instant. From the gasps of the others in the room, he knew he had startled them. Using the Force to augment his strength, he grabbed Darjahn by the neck and hauled him out of his seat -- tipping his chair over -- and slamming him up against the wall. One of Obi-Wan's hands held him there, almost but not quite choking him. His other hand pulled his lightsaber off his belt. 

"I have had more than enough of you," Obi-Wan said in a low voice, his face inches away from Darjahn's. "You are, by far, the most arrogant, self-serving, supercilious, bone-headed, pompous airbag it has ever been my displeasure to meet. I don't think you ever had any intention of working towards peace for your world, and at this point, I couldn't care less. You will tell me where Qui-Gon is, or I will take great pleasure in eviscerating you." Obi-Wan barely kept a self-satisfied smirk from escaping and ruining the effect of his intimidation.

The people around the table seemed suddenly to be released from their shock at his words; Obi-Wan heard several of them stand. Igniting his 'saber, never looking away from Darjahn who was beginning to look a bit blue, he said over his shoulder, "Everyone please stay right where you are -- I am not finished with you yet."

"Jedi Obi-Wan," Linneal begged, "please! Let us help you find your partner! I'm sure that even Darjahn couldn't stoop so low as this... tell him, Darjahn, please!"

Darjahn could barely speak -- Obi-Wan was holding him just far enough off the floor to constrict but not completely shut off his air supply. He'd wrapped his hands around Obi-Wan's forearm, trying to break the hold, but Obi-Wan's arm was as hard as plasteel. "I have reason to believe otherwise, Porlon Linneal," Obi-Wan said. He was actually quite impressed at how cold his voice sounded, even to his own ears. "I know exactly what happened. And Nelowen Darjahn has about ten seconds to answer my question." He put the Force behind his words, making them into a compulsion. 

Darjahn's eyes all but bulged out of their sockets. "Don't know!" he choked, flailing his legs, looking for purchase in order relieve the hold on his neck. "Truth! Don't know!"

"You were behind the kidnapping plan," Obi-Wan stated baldly.

"No, I mean, yes!" Darjahn gasped. "Not just me! Truth!"

"Then where is he?" Obi-Wan repeated.

"Don't know! Please! Didn't want to know -- they said you could read our minds!"

Obi-Wan relaxed his hold just enough to allow Darjahn a bit more air. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw most of the people in the room frozen in shock -- some apparently from his words, some from Darjahn's. Another member from the Nelowengi faction, however, was easing carefully towards the door. Obi-Wan stopped him with a look. "Must I repeat myself? No one is to leave this room until I am finished." Turning back to Darjahn, he gazed at the man through narrowed eyes. All along they'd suspected something else was happening behind the scenes, and now... "Who told you that? What else was said?"

"Woman," Darjahn wheezed, sucking in air through the lessened constriction. "A woman. Not Gi, but human. Bald, with tattoos on her head. Very pale and beautiful. She said... she said..."

A woman? Who? "What did she say?" he demanded, punctuating each word by knocking Darjahn's head against the wall.

"She said we had to get one of you," Darjahn gasped. Obi-Wan could feel the man's pulse thundering beneath his fingers. "She didn't care which. Gave... gave us weapons and... and... a medicine -- a drug. Something about the bugs in your blood -- she said she needed us to test it, and that she would help the Nelowengi win the war if we did." 

Obi-Wan froze, aghast. Weapons? _Bugs in their blood?!_ At that, his anger and fear tripled, nearly overwhelming him. Suddenly, his threats were no longer an act. Re-tightening his hold, he slammed Darjahn against the wall once again, much harder this time. "What have you done?! Who else is in on this?" he demanded. "Is it just Nelowengi? Damn you, if Qui-Gon suffers permanent damage..."

Darjahn was beginning to turn a rather disgusting shade of purple, and somewhere in the back of Obi-Wan's mind, a voice was frantically telling him to calm down, not to invite the Dark Side so readily. But that little voice was overwhelmed by his panic, by the snarl of a creature missing his mate. A whimper from very near at hand made him turn to see Porlon Linneal, standing with her hands to her mouth, her face ashen and her eyes streaming tears. 

"Please, Jedi Obi-Wan," she was sobbing. "Please... don't do this..."

"This man conspired in the kidnapping and drugging of my husband," Obi-Wan ground out. "He used you and all the other people of your world for his own ends, never intending any compromise towards a treaty, a cease-fire or even a temporary peace. He is the lowest possible creature in existence. Tell me why I shouldn't just kill him now."

"You... you are Jedi..." Linneal hiccoughed through her tears. "Je... You... You, you're supposed to be... you're supposed to help us... to, to... Please, don't do this... We'll... we'll get him back... please... help us..."

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan eased his grip on Darjahn's throat slightly. "Help you?" he asked, incredulous. "How? How can I help any of you? For six months we've been trying to help you, and this is how we're repaid? At this point, I find it difficult to believe that any of you have any real intent towards peace!" It was a struggle to keep from shouting in his frustration. "You don't even remember how your idiotic war began, yet you continue it, apparently for the entertainment value alone!" Turning back to Darjahn, he glared and added, loudly enough for all to hear, "Earlier you asked whether we were losing patience with you -- do not suppose that what patience we have is infinite, for we are human, just like you, and we are warriors as well as diplomats."

Obi-Wan knew he should be trying to calm himself, but he was unable to. While he was still awash in gibbering terror over Qui-Gon's kidnapping, what was frightening him most was the grim satisfaction he had in feeling Darjahn's fear -- he knew it was wrong, he _had_ to get it under control. Anger leads to hatred which leads to... Obi-Wan managed to control his fury -- barely. "I will get to the end of this, Nelowen Darjahn," he finally said, winning his internal battle -- for now, anyway. His voice almost trembled, but he ruthlessly controlled it. "One way or another, I will find my mate. I suggest you spend your time away from me, if you still value your reproductive organs and your tongue."

Abruptly, he released Darjahn. The man sagged against the wall, fingering the dark bruises rising on his neck and panting for breath. Knowing if he looked at the Nelowengi again that he would choke the man to death, Obi-Wan turned away and thumbed off his 'saber. "Fine, Porlon Linneal," he said, keeping as tight a rein as he could on the ferocity which still threatened to overwhelm him. "You say you can help me find my mate. I suggest you begin immediately."

He kept his eyes on Linneal as Nelowen Darjahn left the room, scuttling like the insect Obi-Wan now believed him to be.

* * *

His captors left him alone -- freezing, but alone -- for the rest of the day until he felt it had to be deep in the night. Since he had no window, he had no way to tell time. The dim light that came into the room from around the door stayed constant.

Qui-Gon remained in meditation, calming his trepidation and harboring his resources, aware that he could do nothing to improve his lot -- yet -- during that time. Occasionally, from within his trance, he would try to access the Force, but it remained out of his grasp. He was concerned, since he knew that those drugs which suppressed midi-chlorians were often very dangerous and could lead to Force blindness -- but he calmly accepted the danger and remained in meditation.

At last, there was the sound of voices -- more than one -- coming towards his cell. Mentally, he girded himself, ready as he could be, attempting one last time without success to reach for the Force. The door was thrown open, hard, banging against the wall with a loud clang, startling him enough to open his eyes.

Five men stood there, silhouetted in the dim light of the hallway. They were all big, brawny types and reeked of alcohol, and Qui-Gon's foreboding increased by several notches. 

"Git'm up," one of the men -- the one who had originally spoken to him earlier -- growled to his companions. Two of them swiftly moved to flank Qui-Gon, each taking one arm. 

Unresisting, Qui-Gon let himself be dragged upright before erupting into a flurry of motion, proving to his captors that he didn't need the Force to be a threat to them. He'd managed to bring one of the ruffians to his knees and was working on the second when the ringleader suddenly appeared before him and hit him, hard, with some sort of long, thin stick. 

It was a stun rod of some sort, and it sent a burst of instantaneous agony up Qui-Gon's spine. It was too strong even to allow him to scream or fall; he remained in a spasm of intense pain until the stick was withdrawn. At that point, he collapsed, twitching, frozen and incapable of conscious movement.

"Y'buggered fools," he heard the ringleader shout through his haze of misery. "Whassamatter, y'witless rabos? He's just one man!" Still incapable of movement, Qui-Gon watched as the man walked over to him and kicked him viciously in his side. He barely felt it. "G'wan with you... you know what to do, do it! Or do I need t'do everything around here?"

Aware enough to feel satisfaction that the two men he'd managed to injure held back, Qui-Gon tried to prepare himself for more, but his nervous system simply wasn't responding yet. He hung limply between two of the men while their leader shoved his face into Qui-Gon's. "Not so high and mighty now, are ya? I don't think I'll even need t'use my little present." Qui-Gon's feeling of relief at seeing the stick put down on the floor evaporated when the ruffian took a set of metal knuckle-guards out of his pocket. "Let's try this then," he said with an evil smile. 

Slowly, the excruciating pain of the stun rod was subsumed by the pain of blows, then kicks, to his face, stomach and crotch. Just before the world went away for a time, Qui-Gon once again allowed himself to feel a small amount of relief and satisfaction that Obi-Wan had not been the one taken.

* * *

A man named Porlon Joshoun was in charge of what passed for a security force on Gi. Obi-Wan discovered that crime was extremely rare on Gi. Actually, there was plenty of crime in the lower- and out- castes, but the upper caste turned a blind eye to it, and of course the upper caste took care to cover up any wrongdoing of its own. Joshoun would not even question anyone of the Nelowengi side of the negotiations since, despite the war between the Porlongi and Nelowengi, the Nelowengi were upper-caste and therefore above reproach.

The first thing Obi-Wan had to 'prove' to the security chief was that Qui-Gon had indeed been kidnapped and had not merely wandered off for an evening constitutional. When Obi-Wan suggested they interview the servants, the idea was politely and firmly rejected out of hand. Politely, since Jedi were 'honorary' high-caste in Gi. But to Joshoun, the mere thought that someone of a lesser caste could actually provide help rather than being merely subjugated was ludicrous. 

While Obi-Wan was still attempting to get somewhere with the man, Joshoun glanced at his chrono and suddenly announced it was time to leave. "You haven't even _done_ anything!" Obi-Wan nearly shouted, exasperated.

"But it's late," Joshoun explained, as if to a child. "We all need our rest. We will continue to work on the case tomorrow, after first-meal. Perhaps your missing Jedi will be home by then, yes? Good evening to you, Jedi Obi-Wan."

And with no other explanation, he left Obi-Wan standing in the middle of his suite of rooms, aghast and livid. 

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Obi-Wan worked hard to control himself and his feelings. There had to be a way to get Qui-Gon back. It appeared that someone, possibly Tyrannus but the list of suspects was a parsec long, had set them up. Why, he wasn't certain, but knew he'd find out, eventually, and that was secondary to his goal. He was terrified that Qui-Gon would be killed or rendered Force-blind if he wasn't found soon. He was furious that the Nelowengi contingent had been duplicitous in their dealings with the Jedi and the people of their planet, and he was especially enraged at Nelowen Darjahn for simply continuing to exist.

As he stood there, struggling with his thoughts and emotions, a small lamp behind him suddenly rocked on its base and shattered. The noise made him jump and turn, and abruptly brought home to him how he was projecting through the Force. Standing ramrod straight, he consciously relaxed his hands then let his head drop to his chest, trying hard to suck in a deep breath past the tightness in his throat.

For one brief instant, he allowed self-pity to wash over him. He _relied_ on Qui-Gon; he needed Qui-Gon to maintain his sanity, which was precarious at best. A very small, mean voice in his head told him that Qui-Gon might already be dead, and if so, Obi-Wan would be useless a Jedi, because without his spouse to carry him, he was worthless.

But there was a louder voice, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Qui-Gon's -- or maybe Dotrick's -- mocking those words. Obi-Wan was a Jedi. With or without his spouse, he was a Jedi, and he would find Qui-Gon. He had wasted too much time with these idiots already -- the only one that would find Qui-Gon was Obi-Wan, and if he wanted to do it within this year, he'd better get started.

With that new resolution firming his spine, the tightness in his chest and throat eased, and he was able to draw a deep breath. First things first, then. He was overwrought, and that would not help him. He needed a couple of hours of meditation to seek his path within the Force. He also needed to place an emergency pick-up call with the Temple, since they had no means to get off the planet except a thrice-yearly shuttle from a nearby planet that was a member of the Republic. 

Certain once again, calmer and more in control, he placed his call -- a tachyon burst that would not be replied to -- then sank into lotus and cleared his mind. When he swam out of his trance, it was the morning side of midnight, and he knew what he had to do.

* * *

Qui-Gon woke slowly, aware he was a mass of aches, bloody cuts and bruises. He was cold, too -- he couldn't really feel his toes. Normally would have worried him. Now, he just lay still and tried to distract himself by conducting an inventory of what was hurt or broken.

Definitely a rib was at least bruised, if not cracked. Maybe two of them. He couldn't open his left eye at all, and the right was crusted over with what was probably blood. He didn't feel any cracked bones in his face -- except for his nose, which he thought might have been broken again. Master Yoda will tut tut at me, he thought, not smiling because his lips were also split.

Moving gently, using careful muscle control to feel around his body, he determined that nothing was seriously damaged. His left wrist felt sprained, but he could tell the bones were still intact. There was a very serious tenderness in his lower abdomen which worried him, but he doubted he had internal injuries. He further realized he'd wet himself while unconscious, but that was quite normal for what he'd been put through.

They had not asked him any questions. 

That bothered him most of all -- they didn't want information. They only wanted only to hurt, to beat him merely because they liked to hear him scream. And that strange stick, the stun rod -- if that's what it was -- was of a technology far beyond what the Gi possessed. As was the anti-midi-chlorian injection, actually. A technology that was far beyond the Gi, but not beyond others -- like, perhaps, Darth Tyrannus.

He reached again for the Force, and this time he could almost feel it: present, but remote, like the smoke from a distant fire. It gave him hope, and he prayed they would not give him another injection. When they came back for another session with him -- something they were bound to do -- he would have to limply take the beating, so that they wouldn't guess he was recovering.

Of course, in his present condition, that's what he'd have to do anyway.

He must have drifted a bit, for the next thing he knew the door was slamming open again, and icy-cold water was being dashed over him. Great, just great, he thought, now he'd have to worry about hypothermia as well as the beatings. But he was able to extract a bit of water for his parched throat, so it wasn't all bad. And he knew Obi-Wan would find him. He would be looking, and Qui-Gon would be found -- he had no doubt of that. Actually, he almost felt sorry for his captors, having seen first-hand Obi-Wan Kenobi's rage at an injustice. Qui-Gon was just glad it was him in the cell, and not Obi-Wan.

Then he was hauled upright by harsh, rough hands, and it started all over again.

Only this time, it was worse.

Much worse.

* * *

The only people moving about in the pre-dawn hours were the low- and out-caste servants, those who did the jobs no one else would. Obi-Wan had to tread carefully -- it was not unusual for the servants to be beaten to death for something as trivial as a discrepancy in the larder. No matter his burning need, he would not put innocent people at risk. He hoped.

Because of their unlikely friendship with the servants and their supply of food, the Jedi were known and nearly revered. They were considered high-caste, though as off-worlders they technically had no caste at all, and were regarded with awe.

Long before daybreak, the scullery and janitor servants were hard at work, and, as usual, gave Obi-Wan a confused but respectful greeting. The man who had replaced the one beaten to death -- an older man who was missing most of one leg -- nodded at Obi-Wan's approach. As usual, he would not meet Obi-Wan's eyes, but allowed himself to be drawn aside. 

"I need to get out of the compound," Obi-Wan told him in a murmur. "Without, if possible, anyone finding out I've gone until later. Can you help me?"

The man -- whose name was something like Avurst or Avrust, Obi-Wan couldn't remember -- gave him a scared grimace. "I dunno, sir, I don't want what happened to Shoosht to happen to any one of us," he replied, his voice soft and jittery.

"I know, I know -- I don't want to put any of you in danger," Obi-Wan said, almost bouncing on his toes in his desire to find Qui-Gon. "But Qui-Gon -- my partner, my _spouse_ \-- has been kidnapped, by the Nelowengi." The man's eyes widened at that. "I've got to find him. Please, help me."

"Nelowengi are on the gate this day," he whispered. "Why'd they take 'im sir? What would they do?"

"I don't know, but I _must_ get out of here to find him -- soon." Trying to calm the man's fears while not giving in to his own, he added, "I know I won't be allowed to go if I ask. I've made up the bed to look like I'm sleeping in it, and my pack only contains what I absolutely need." This was true. Obi-Wan had created a bag out of Qui-Gon's cloak, and it held their med kit, transmission gear and travel tool set, Qui-Gon's blue robe, and some high-protein ration bars. Everything else could be left and good riddance to it. "I also put that sign on the door, not to disturb me."

"That'll give you a bit of time, sir," the man said, obviously thinking. "Very good. I can get you out if you'll change clothes. It's not right that they took your mate from ye, sir. C'mon."

The man led him to a small room, one that had immediate access to the back end, the servants' entrance, of the compound. On a high shelf, one that he had to step on a footstool to reach, was piled several changes of clothing, for both men and women. "They don't like us to have stains or tears, sir," he explained, sorting out the clothing. "We been keeping some here for years." He frowned at Obi-Wan, then back at the clothing. "I'm thinking a skirt might be best to hide you -- you keeping your head down and hood up so's they don't see the beard."

"And since most of the able-bodied are women, that makes sense," Obi-Wan replied, nodding. "Would it be better if I shaved?"

"Nay, sir, I'm thinking you'll be fine, sir." Obi-Wan couldn't be certain the man meant it or was simply reacting as a lower caste to an upper -- but he had not time to shave anyway.

It was the work of a few moments to pull the homespun skirt up over his boots and trousers, and to toss a big, concealing cloak over his shoulders. "There, now, sir. Give me a bit to get someone to go with. We'll get you out in a bunch, so there'll be no worries."

In a few moments, a small group of women -- all out-caste -- were ready to escort him out. He recognized a couple of them, but none of them would talk to or even look at him... they all kept their heads down and he mimicked them, knowing it would hide him even better. Before they left, the overseer spoke in hushed tones to one of the women, who shot a glance at Obi-Wan before looking back down. Then the door was opened and they were off.

It was difficult to keep from sprinting out of the compound to the street beyond, so eager was he to leave and to find Qui-Gon. But he ruthlessly quashed the impulse and maintained a shuffling walk, head down, in the center of the small group of women. 

At the gate, he had one moment of panic when it looked like the only awake guard was going to search all of them. Putting a Force compulsion in his voice, Obi-Wan murmured just loud enough, "You don't need to stop or search us, we carry nothing." The guard, a sleepy and bored-looking man, repeated it back at them, and waved them through.

The government complex stood at the edge of the ruined city. Most of the buildings close to it were burned out shells, and some showed damage from mortars. Vermin roamed the streets, feasting on and fighting over what might have been the corpses of people and other animals, though Obi-Wan didn't go close enough to check. The smell was sickening -- and it was still pre-dawn and relatively cool. He couldn't imagine what it would be like in the heat of the day.

As they turned a corner and left the guards behind them, Obi-Wan loosened the ties of the skirt he wore and let it drop. He wrapped it and the robe he wore into a small bundle. He didn't expect ever to return to the so-called 'peace' talks, so he didn't worry about disguising himself anymore. As he began to turn away from his group, the one woman the overseer had spoken with stopped him by tugging on his tunic.

"I need..." he began, but she tugged on his sleeve again, looking furtively about as she did so. "What?" Obi-Wan finally asked her, but she held her fingers to her lips and tugged him again, leading him down an alleyway.

Puzzled, but trusting in the Force which told him that it was a good idea to follow her, Obi-Wan stayed with her, ducking when she did, and ended up thoroughly lost in the maze of alleyways that filled the ruined city. The sky was lightening as the sun prepared to rise when his odd guide came to a halt on the far edge of the city, in yet another alleyway -- this one slightly cleaner than the others. She led him down a few stairs to a doorway just below street-level and knocked quickly -- three short raps, a pause, and one more.

The door opened a crack, and someone examined them from the darkness within. Abruptly, the door was swung open just enough for them to squeeze through, which they did.

The room Obi-Wan entered was dark -- lit only by the light of a few, obviously hand-made candles. It was filled with people, mostly women but a few men too, all silently regarding him. Turning to his guide, Obi-Wan said, "Why have you brought me here? I need to find my partner."

She didn't answer. After a moment, another woman, a tall one with a regal air and lines of ancient sorrow on her face, stepped forward and spoke. "She could not answer you even if she wanted to, for she has no tongue."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and closed his eyes, regretting his hasty words. "I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing his burning eyes. "But I need..."

"You need what we all need," the mysterious woman said. "The return of those we love. Yours might be still alive, and we will help you as we can. But we must have a payment for what we do for you."

"You're an underground movement against the war and the upper-caste," Obi-Wan said with a sigh. It didn't surprise him much that such a thing would exist, but he didn't know how he could help -- and he had to find Qui-Gon. 

"Yes," she replied. "I am Morshan. Once, I was Nelowen Morshan. Now, I am merely Morshan." Her voice was educated, her command of Basic excellent, which clearly pointed to her origins as high-caste. "When one has made the mistake of loving outside one's caste, the penalties can be severe. At least I still retain my tongue -- though that is, at best, a limited blessing." She gestured around the room, indicating the other women -- mostly very young -- and men -- mostly very old. "These are some of the people who have not been caught and made to fight in the war, or who have survived, somehow, while fighting, and managed to escape. We have all lost many loved ones, and once we are gone, there will be none to remember us, since there are no more children."

Obi-Wan's head snapped up at that. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"I mean what I have said," Morshan said. "There are no more children born to us, born to any caste, anymore. Even the out-caste. Some think it is the gods' way of punishing us. They may be right." She walked to Obi-Wan and peered into his face. "You, off-worlder, no-caste who has high-caste, magician -- can you help us? We wish for the war to end, and we wish for our missing to return, and we wish to have children again before we all die. If we help you, will you help us?"

No more children -- suddenly, everything made sense to Obi-Wan. This was why the Porlongi wanted so desperately to be made members of the Republic, so they could find a way to fix whatever problem they had created for themselves -- so they could have children again. He and Qui-Gon had been right all along: there was much more here than met the eye.

Heaving a sigh, Obi-Wan hung his head, wearily wondering what else could happen to make this mission a more complete disaster. "I did not come here to free you," he said softly, fingering the edges of the cloak-bundle he carried. "I am Jedi, and we do work for the good of the Republic, but your planet is not a member yet. I don't have any official way to help you here."

"I told you it would be useless," one young woman in the back of the room snapped. "We are alone."

"No," Obi-Wan said strongly. His head came up and he looked at the women and men in the room. "Whatever else you are, you are _not_ alone. There are those who can -- and will -- help you." He took a deep breath again. "But I don't think _I_ can. The Jedi must bow to the wishes of those above us, much as you bow to the upper-caste. The only difference is..." He trailed off and then snorted in something like amusement. "The only difference is there's no reason I can't notify those who can help you with your problem. And there's no reason I can't do whatever I can do for you while I'm here."

There was a general soft murmur at that, and Obi-Wan saw a painful kind of hope flit across Morshan's face. "But in order to help you the most, I need to get off your planet. And I need my husband -- I have reason to believe they may be drugging him with something that might kill him soon, if I don't find him."

"We have no way of providing you transport, Jedi," Morshan said. "However, we can and will help you find your husband. I will not see suffering when it can be prevented. But... while we look, you will help us?" Her bearing might be proud, but she was obviously willing to beg for the people she lived with. It touched Obi-Wan's heart -- the part of it that was not bleeding for Qui-Gon. He couldn't stand by while they worked for him without helping them.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "Yes, I will. I will start by taking a small sample of blood from the women and men, and when I leave here with Qui-Gon, I will have it analyzed to see what is wrong and if it can be corrected somehow." He took another deep breath: he was assuming a lot here, but the alternative of not locating Qui-Gon was too horrible for him to contemplate. Slowly, he let the breath out. "Then I will send word to those people who can and will help you. They will come. I can guarantee that."

Morshan nodded slowly. "It is enough. It will have to be."

* * *

In his dank, dark cell, Qui-Gon Jinn lay on his side, holding the tattered rags of his clothing to an open wound on his head, hoping to stanch the bleeding. The smell of blood and feces and agony lay heavily in the room. He could not feel anything below his knees, which was probably a blessing, although the tears in his rectum from being repeatedly raped with a variety of objects would probably far outstrip all his other pains. His fingers, most of them broken, were also quite numb with cold.

_Obi-Wan?_

He had no idea what time it was, nor how long he'd been held. He'd been given another injection, and normally that would have frightened him -- he didn't want to become Force-blind -- but it was difficult to think or even care at the moment. The men holding him had taken great pleasure in beating him and listening to him scream, and he discovered he could hide in a small, warm corner of his mind where Obi-Wan was and let his body react how it would. That seemed to please them, that he screamed in agony whenever they hurt him, with or without the stun rod. He drew comfort from knowing Obi-Wan was not in this cell, though sometimes, when the beatings and abuse were especially bad, he wasn't sure Obi-Wan wasn't there.

_Husband?_

That warm little sheltered spot in his brain was getting smaller and smaller. It was getting harder to ignore the excruciating pain in his extremities -- what he could feel of them -- or in his abdomen, his face and other places. He'd lost and was continuing to lose a lot of blood, he was sure, and was weakening fast. He hadn't been fed or even given water to replenish himself. The men abusing him were always fresh; they apparently rotated in shifts, and all of them took a lot of glee in abusing him.

_Hurry. Please._

Qui-Gon drifted in pleasant memory until the door clanged open, yet again.

* * *

It is one thing to know an event in the abstract and quite another to see it first-hand -- something they had not been able to impress upon the upper-caste. What Obi-Wan saw -- away from the privileged ones -- explained much, filled in the gaps in his knowledge of the planet, the people and the strife. The war between the Nelowengi and Porlongi that had torn this planet apart for years had basically destroyed its people. The upper-caste was in control of the war, but it was always fought by others -- those who did what the Nelowengi and Porlongi bid. The upper-caste didn't care, so long as there were plenty of bodies available as cannon-fodder. 

The cannon-fodder was growing weaker, however. Weaker and fewer. Entire castes had been wiped out, he discovered. It bothered him, in passing, that the sense of shock he knew he should feel at such revelations just wasn't there.

He had depleted the small medical kit as much as he dared in helping those who were severely hurt, and took many blood samples and histories of those who had tried to have children. He discovered that pregnancy was possible, but it invariably ended well before term in a bloody, painful miscarriage -- and sometimes death for the mother as well. In looking for the cause, Obi-Wan's suspicions that the war had been fought 'dirty' were confirmed; it looked as though combatants had used both biological and atomic weapons. When he took a reading to confirm his suspicion, he discovered dangerously high levels of background radiation in certain parts of the ruined city. He had no idea if he and Qui-Gon were being affected, and chose not to think about it.

The women he stayed with had all lost loved ones in the war. The youngest was about fifteen standard. The eldest didn't know her age, but Obi-Wan believed they were all aged beyond their years. Most of them had no tongue -- a standard punishment. Some were missing limbs, teeth and hair, or were deformed. The few men in the hideaway were uniformly older and crippled. Occasionally, one would sidle up to him when he was working on something -- anything to keep busy, to keep from dwelling on Qui-Gon -- and would tell him about the war. Tell him how the draft age kept getting lower and lower until any boy-child able to walk and carry a weapon was used. The upper-castes were now beginning to use women -- something they hadn't done before -- and many women went gladly, hoping to find their missing before dying themselves.

Dying wasn't feared on Gi, Obi-Wan came to understand. For those in the low- and out-castes, dying was anticipated, even welcomed. The truth of the war was far more appalling than he could have imagined.

And still -- he was cold and numb. The pain he should feel for them just wasn't there.

Through the horror of what he saw and heard, Obi-Wan continued to make plans -- when they returned to Coruscant, he would alert several of the various organizations that made it their business to help any beings suppressed by injustice. He felt very certain they would descend on Gi like avenging angels and...

And probably create more havoc than help, but he could see no other way to help the low- and out-caste people of Gi. The Republic would be rejecting their petition based on his report. That, he could and would guarantee.

In the almost three days since Qui-Gon had been taken, Obi-Wan had tried to keep busy every moment. What sleep he got was brief, exhausted and generally broken by nightmares. The ache to find Qui-Gon was all-consuming, eating a hole in his middle. But in those few, brief moments when he tried to rest, that little, snide voice would come back to him and bait him. Frequently, he was consumed by guilt for his single-minded quest to get Qui-Gon back -- that voice would ask him why he deserved to get his spouse back when others might never find their spouses and families. What made him so special, the voice wanted to know. And Obi-Wan couldn't answer.

His absence had finally been noticed, but not before he had been gone for most of a day. Morshan and her band of out-castes brought him updates, how the upper-caste members of the committee were frantically trying to find him, even stooping to ask the low-caste servants, who thankfully were not under suspicion. None of those asked helped, but many of them were gleeful that the Porlongi and Nelowengi had to ask at all. 

Nelowen Darjahn had been interrogated and, according to the information Morshan had gained, had even been beaten by security forces. She thought it possible that his caste might be stripped from him, a fate clearly worse than death on Gi. Obi-Wan took cold satisfaction in that possibility. The man had, however, escaped after the interrogation, and the small underground movement was tracking him, hoping he would lead them to Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan waited and watched. He instructed Morshan and her small band of rebels how to observe without being observed and how to use guerrilla tactics to get what they wanted. He had them set up two watching posts of low- and out-caste women -- one on the compound and the other on the primitive spaceport. He lived in hope that the Temple would send a ship soon, perhaps diverting someone who was close, since as soon as he got Qui-Gon, they would leave this Sith-damned planet even if he had to fly through space by flapping his arms.

It was another dark night when Morshan slipped into the small closet he was using as a bedchamber. He was not asleep, and by the expression on her face, she had not expected him to be. "We have found him," she whispered. 

What fatigue Obi-Wan had felt disappeared at those words. He fairly leapt from his pallet. "Can you take me there?

"Yes, but it's a place that's hard to get into," she told him. "It's a bunker over by the Saltan Sea, and we're not sure where he is within the building."

Throwing his tunic on, attaching both 'sabers to his belt, Obi-Wan growled, "Just get me there."

"The walls are very thick," she warned him. "And we cannot storm the front. We'd be cut down. No one is allowed in without a special clearance."

"Just get me there," Obi-Wan repeated. "I can get in."

It was a long journey along roads that had obviously seen better days. They traveled in an ancient vehicle, one that burned liquid fuel and rattled and groaned every second of the journey. It was nerve-wracking -- they had to go slowly, without any lights, so that roving patrols of soldiers wouldn't see them and use them for target practice. Every time they heard something coming -- over the rumble of the combustion engine -- they had to pull off the road and hide. Obi-Wan sat in the front and relied on the Force to guide them, instructing the woman who drove when to stop and when to go.

When they stopped, it was in a copse of trees that had miraculously survived the war. Obi-Wan climbed out of the cab and opened the back of the enclosed vehicle to get his pack, which he wouldn't leave anywhere. He could hear the sounds of surf roaring angrily onto the shore, somewhere ahead and down from where he was. Morshan came around the vehicle and directed him.

"You must walk to the cliff, and go right," she murmured. "Follow the cliff line for a while. You will see the lights of the bunker ahead of you. It is heavily defended from the front, where the road is, but you will be coming up on it from behind. We've counted about fifteen men there at this time of night."

She looked at him seriously, her dark eyes reflecting the starlight. "We cannot help you further, though we would like to," she said. "You are a magician, with the gods on your side -- you can get the one you love?"

Obi-Wan nodded, crouching on the ground next to the vehicle. From his bundle, he removed the tool set, which included a tiny chiplight. While Morshan and another woman watched, he pulled his lightsaber off his belt and, using the tools, removed the casing. "For once, my love," he muttered, mostly to himself, "my strange hobby comes in handy."

With a few quick movements, he changed the power supply to directly feed to the crystals and removed the bleed circuit entirely. After about five minutes, he was done, and rose. "You'll hear a loud explosion," he said. "Give me half an hour after that. If I'm not back by then, or if you hear no explosion, or if the sun starts to rise before I get back, go. Don't wait for me. If I'm not back by then, I won't be coming back."

The women silently accepted his directive. As well-accustomed to death and destruction as they were, he knew his grim instructions did nothing to alarm them. They merely nodded and stayed with the vehicle as Obi-Wan disappeared from their sight.

It was a treacherous jog down along the cliff's edge, but Obi-Wan trusted in the Force to keep him safe. It was as Morshan had described -- well-illuminated, and guarded from the front with razor wire and large guns. The razor wire extended to the back as well, but there were no lights. The building was half-set into the ground and the cliff, and looked impenetrable from the rear, which was obviously why it wasn't guarded from that direction.

To cut a large hole in the razor wire was the work of a few seconds, then Obi-Wan was pressed up against the back wall, melting into the shadows. He closed his eyes and centered himself, seeking the Force, seeking the proper location for his strange bomb. It took a few moments -- he was high on adrenaline and had difficulty centering -- but finally, the Force responded to his call, and he blindly felt his way along the thick wall until he reached the spot that _felt_ right. 

He quickly dug a shallow trench next to the wall and placed his 'saber in it. He took a deep, cleansing breath before bending down and thumbing the switch. As he sprinted for his hole in the wire, he whispered, "I'm here, love. Hold on."

In a few seconds, the 'saber went up in a tremendous explosion, taking out the wall and a good deal of the building and ground at that end. Obi-Wan waited only long enough to be sure that all the debris had hit the ground before running with Force-enhanced speed into the gaping hole in the building.

The spot he had blown up had apparently been a sleeping room for the staff assigned to the bunker. His one blast had killed a good portion of the guard all at once, and he raced through the building, looking for others. He met a few -- while returning or melting a few projectiles from strange weapons -- and eliminated them all ruthlessly, automatically. He was quite sure the sound of the blast would bring others to the location, so he had no time to waste. Trusting in the Force once again, he moved to the other side of the building and began kicking open door after door.

He almost missed Qui-Gon. The green glow from Qui-Gon's 'saber illuminated him in a ghastly light. He was lying on his side, naked, huddled on the freezing floor in a pool of his own blood. For a heart-stopping moment, Obi-Wan was certain he was dead, before he finally heard harsh breathing and a soft moan. "Qui-Gon?" he whispered, his own voice sounding raw to his ears.

Qui-Gon didn't reply. Obi-Wan removed his cloak and draped it over his husband before gently lifting him in his arms like a baby. Qui-Gon felt frighteningly cold, and Obi-Wan swore he felt bones grinding together as he cradled Qui-Gon's head against his shoulder. "Hang on, love," Obi-Wan murmured. "We're going to get you somewhere safe now."

Continuing to trust in the Force for help, Obi-Wan moved as fast as he could back to the trees and the vehicle that waited, trying hard to keep from jostling Qui-Gon. The harsh breathing and the blood he could feel seeping through the robe terrified him, but he pushed the fear down and away. He had work to do first.

An alarm had indeed been raised by the sound of the blast. However, the vehicle seemed to be far enough away from the bunker that they managed to avoid the patrols easily. The trip back seemed to take no time at all, for all that he knew it took an hour. He sat in the back of the enclosed vehicle, holding Qui-Gon as carefully as he could, making sure he was wrapped in his cloak as completely as possible. They pulled back into the city just as the sun was rising, and were met at the building Morshan used as a headquarters by a breathless girl, one who had been set to watch the spaceport.

"There's a ship!" she gasped to them, and Obi-Wan's heart leaped painfully. "The man's asking for ye, sir, he is, and the Porlongi are arguing with him, sir!"

"Get me close enough?" Obi-Wan begged Morshan, who nodded grimly.

The upper-caste guards were looking forward, for the most part, so it was easy for Morshan to get Obi-Wan to within a block of the port. Collecting his gear, making sure the samples were still there, Obi-Wan gave her a grateful look, knowing that it was poor payment. Carefully, he climbed out of the back of the vehicle, still carrying Qui-Gon, who hadn't regained consciousness. In the early morning light, Qui-Gon looked even worse than he had at the bunker; his face was a mass of bruises and cuts. Obi-Wan didn't really want to see what the rest of him looked like, for he feared if he knew, he'd simply light Qui-Gon's 'saber and cut down all the Gi that stood in his way.

Once again calling on the Force, Obi-Wan pushed his way through the crowd until he got to the ship, a small corvette. From the looks he got, and the recoiling away from him, he figured he must have been a frightful sight. At the door to the corvette, to his vast relief, stood Maul, arguing with Porlon Linneal.

Maul must have felt him coming for he looked up, saw them, and blanched. "Obi-Wan?" he asked, his jaw dropping as he realized the bundle in Obi-Wan's arms was Qui-Gon. "Sweet Force. Get him up here, I've got a small med bay."

Obi-Wan heard but ignored the cries of Linneal and other members of the Porlongi delegation as he stalked aboard the corvette. As he passed Maul, he snarled, "Don't let _any_ of them up here."

Maul just frowned and nodded, following Obi-Wan aft to the med bay after securing the lock.

The bay was small but well-stocked. Tenderly, Obi-Wan put Qui-Gon on the only bed and gently pulled the robe back, exposing his injuries. He heard Maul hiss in sympathy as the horrifying injuries came into view. Obi-Wan didn't speak or even breathe, for fear that he would begin screaming and never stop.

Maul suddenly appeared before him, taking his ice-cold hands, gently forcing him back away from the bed. "No... I..." Obi-Wan tried to protest.

"Obi-Wan. Let me. You're shaking." He was? Yes, he was. Odd, he hadn't noticed. "I'll get a drip started on him and bacta packs; get him stable. You go get us in the air. Can you do that?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and let it out as gradually as he could. Slowly, very slowly, the ice he had built up around himself began to melt. "Yes. I can do that." He tried to look at Qui-Gon again, but Maul blocked his way, gently turning him. 

"Go -- you know I'll take care of him." Maul hugged him tightly, then pushed him out the door. 

Still numb, still running on adrenaline and not much else, Obi-Wan walked to the front of the shuttle, only as an afterthought hearing the ruckus outside the airlock door. Sudden fury slammed into him from out of nowhere, and he punched the airlock door open, igniting Qui-Gon's 'saber as he did so. He stood at the top of the ramp, in a ready stance. In passing, he wondered what expression he wore.

Porlon Linneal stood at the base of the ramp, surrounded by other members of the so-called peace talks, all of them with abject terror plain on their faces. "Jedi Obi-Wan," Linneal cried.

"I have, through no help from any of you, rescued my husband, who is nearly dead," Obi-Wan said flatly, impassively. Now was not the time to scream a war cry and cut them all to ribbons, no matter how much he wanted to. "We are leaving now. In order to save you the waiting time, I can inform you that the Republic will deny your petition for admittance to its august body. As far as the Jedi are concerned, you can all rot in hell, which is where you belong." Perhaps he was being rash in that declaration -- but perhaps not.

He turned to re-enter the ship, but paused. They didn't all belong in the ninth circle of hell -- he had gotten his love back, but many of the women of this planet would never know what happened to their loves, would never get them back. Despite being wounded and dying in both body and soul, they had still helped him. Who would help them? "Let me amend that," he said, loud enough for the low- and out-caste crowd behind the delegation to hear. "I wouldn't want to wish the true, honest people of this planet any grief. Just the Porlongi and the Nelowengi. The sooner you become extinct, the happier your gods will be, I'm sure."

On that note, he closed and sealed the airlock, then headed forward.

By rote, he finished the pre-flight checks and fired the thrusters, not even checking to see if they were clear. The ship moved quickly into orbit while Obi-Wan set the navicomp for Coruscant and put them into hyperspace.

Finally, he sagged in his seat and put his head in his hands, too exhausted and heart-sore even to cry. He wanted to go aft to check up on Qui-Gon, but his legs suddenly didn't feel as though they would support him.

After a time -- he had no idea how long -- Maul came forward. He took one look at Obi-Wan and almost bodily lifted him out of the pilot's chair, nearly dragging him aft, to the galley. Obi-Wan went without comment or complaint, standing passively while Maul took a warm, damp cloth to his face and hands.

"You're almost covered with blood," Maul murmured. "I think it's mostly Qui-Gon's, though. He's fine now; he needs a bacta tank, but he's going to be fine."

Obi-Wan nodded mutely. Something in his face must have been terrible, for Maul's face crumpled. He pulled Obi-Wan in for another hug. "He'll be all right, now. I swear it."

Leaning on his friend, Obi-Wan allowed himself one loud, gasping sob, before using the comfort Maul offered to calm himself. He was not completely recovered, but Obi-Wan thought he could see it from where he was.

Still clinging to Maul, Obi-Wan spoke into his shoulder. "I'm so glad you were close enough to answer the EC."

"You put out an emergency call?" Maul asked, gently patting his back. 

"Yes... a few days ago." Obi-Wan pulled back enough to look Maul in the face. "You didn't answer it?"

"No, I didn't know. The Council sent me to get you over a week ago -- I've made several stops in-between. They've announced a general recall of all Jedi, back to the main Temple."

"What?" In his exhausted, befuddled state, Obi-Wan couldn't figure out what Maul was saying. "A recall?"

"Yes," Maul replied. He looked at Obi-Wan seriously. "They said it's the first time in a couple of millennia."

"But... Why?"

"Because someone is killing Jedi."

end


End file.
